


Millions (Frerard)

by spaghettisoup



Category: My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghettisoup/pseuds/spaghettisoup
Summary: (Quick note: This is a draft, and not a finished product. I'm posting it so that there is a place for it to be organised and edited- Be warmed that there will be severe plot holes and inconsistencies. Anyway, read if you want to)
Gerard has finished his masterpiece; the best novel he's ever written, but his celebrations are cut short by a short man with a bleeding head stood on his doorstep.





	1. Chapter 1

Though seen as, by Gerard himself, a masterpiece, the book itself was really a simple, tacky romance horror, describing the conflicts between a heterosexual couple, and the troubles a woman with an axe murderer for a husband faces. The concept was far more interesting seeming than the book itself. Still, it was his pride and joy. Sat in his candlelit study, Gerard was close to a breakthrough. Positioned in the centre of his ebony desk, sat a smiling candle, which beamed out a mild orange glow, which, on occasion, faltered and flickered, but still provided the writer with sufficient light to finish this damned novel. The light fanned out across the desk, and a foot or two behind Gerard, before cutting off. As the rest of the room sat, cloaked in a blanket of darkness.   
Gerard held the page up in the dim light, and observed the handwritten beauty he had carefully clasped in his hands, great tenderness and pride. About two years of locking himself in this dingy study, and living in the middle of nowhere had always boiled down to this moment- The completion of his novel. And, he felt that the experience of finishing it was rather underwhelming, as, yes, it was finished, but he did not feel as relieved as he thought he would, during the days of writer's block, the difficult ones, as he was not so sure anymore, as to how he would fill in the empty gaps which seemed to take up the entirety of his life. Parts of his hands were swollen from the pen, which dug into his fingers awkwardly. Swollen no more, though.   
This moment of happiness and pride, however, was not to last long, as a flurry of panicked knocks to his front door rung throughout the entire house, reflecting off of every wall, and seeming to never end, as it sounded more as if a hailstorm of gunshots had burst into the safe haven of his home, than an unexpected visitor at his door. In fact, the chilling sound of frantic knocks had Gerard paralysed for several seconds, though he was soon to shake his head, and rise from his office chair, tuck it under the desk, and open the study door, light spilling in from the hallway, and hurting his eyes a little. He travelled from there to the front door in a few seconds, taking the door off of the chain, and pulling the door open slightly, however blocking access to the house itself with his body. Gerard would rarely get visitors, let's say, he wasn't exactly popular. A recluse of sorts, who kept mostly to himself, and minded only his own business.  
Stood in the dark, face barely visible in the struggling porch light, which flickered on and off, was a shorter male, looking younger than Gerard. Red liquid trickled from a spot on his head, and soaked his shirt. He wore a pleading expression, on an attractive face, which had an aesthetically pleasing bone structure and captivating eyes. Gerard's stomach tightened.   
"Hello- I... Well my car sir, it broke down a while away, and I- I... I need to use your phone..." His teeth chattered, as his hands sat, stuffed in his pockets, with widened eyes, "If y-you don't mind... s-sir."  
Gerard didn't move, eyes still fixed firmly upon the stranger, still blocking the entrance.   
"Where's the crash?" He enquired, eyes narrow and suspicious.   
"A-About a mile back, sir, please..."  
Gerard softened, with a curt nod, and stepped aside, tilting his head very slightly to allow the stranger inside. He figured that as the man was smaller and younger than he was, he would be fine. He slipped past Gerard, passing him, and a strange smell attacked Gerard.  
Gerard's eyes narrowed slightly further, as the sickly-sweet scent of corn syrup invaded his senses. This, to Gerard, was highly bizarre and suspicious, and once the man was inside, Gerard took a step forwards, and peered out into the blackened, hidden countryside, looking left, and looking right. Nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed that, hopefully, this man was alone and wouldn't harm him. 

The visitor had already made his way into Gerard's living room, and was sat compactly on the sofa, seeming as if he desperately did not want to make a crease on the sofa, as if he wanted to be as polite as possible. Gerard hovered for several long seconds in the doorway, examining his guest. With a punk-y hairstyle; A faux hawk, which was black, with sides dyed red, hands, which had now been removed from his pockets and rested upon his lap, coated in ink- tattoos of letters on his fingers, which Gerard couldn't read from where he was stood, but made a mental note to, at some point, figure out what the word was.   
"What's your name?" Gerard asked, in his hushed, peaceful voice, and watched as the shifty looking man glanced at him, as if only just noticing Gerard now, and faked a little smile.  
"Oh my name? Frank." His knee jiggled.He did not give a second name. Gerard's eyes went to the leather jacket which the man wore, and the object poking out of the left pocket.   
The object was thin, and looked as it it was made of plastic. The tattooed hands moved to the pocket, and slipped the thing further down inside the jacket, and Frank's head tilted very slightly, as if anticipating something, however, Gerard simply replied with a casual shrug, as if he hadn't noticed.

"You can use my phone," Gerard stated, gesturing to the landline on his coffee table, "to call a family member... or whoever you need to ring. I'll make you a drink. And find some bandages, for your head."   
Gerard smiled weakly, before swiftly leaving the room, hands shaking very slightly, due to the nerves that overcame his body.  
'I think he's got a fucking knife,' the image of the object flickered back behind Gerard's eyes, as the identity of the thing became more evident, like a fog clearing in his head. 

***

"Jesus fucking Christ! I'm fucking doing it, alright?" Frank sounded far less polite, hissing harshly down the phone, making an obvious effort to not be heard. But Gerard heard him. And on Gerard's return, he had hung up without a 'goodbye', and returned the phone to its holster. He then fiddled with his hands for several seconds, without making eye contact with the man watching him in the doorway, before, finally, returning the shocked stare that Gerard was sending him. Gerard frowned, placing the glass of water and first aid kit on the coffee table.  
"You okay?" Gerard tried, playing with his hands uncomfortably, staring at Frank with a slightly nervous look on his face.   
Frank didn't answer, and he instead frowned.   
"I'm going to need some things," He said icily, rising to his feet, very slowly, hand reaching for his pocket, and appearing to be gripping something. Gerard was quite sure that he knew exactly what that something was, and took a deep breath, eyes wide, as, behold, the glinting blade, shimmering in the soft lighting, became visible to the both of them.   
"Your phone. Your wallet." Frank stated sternly, the point of the blade pressed in the hollow between Gerard's collar bones, at the base of his neck, the sharp metal digging in slightly, but not hard enough to draw blood. He was shorter than Gerard, however armed, and Gerard looked as if he had seen a ghost, "you're going to get them, bring them to me, and keep your mouth shut, and you're not going to go running it about to anyone."   
Gerard whimpered slightly, as the knife was pressed harder against his exposed skin, pale, eyes wide.   
"Got that?" Frank hissed, but Gerard didn't answer, instead, staring blankly back at him. And so, Frank repeated his instructions, slowly, irritably, and patronisingly, as if he was speaking to a toddler.   
And the instructions given were followed frantically and quietly by Gerard, who kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with him, as he fetched his mobile phone from his bedroom, followed by Frank, who kept a watchful eye upon him, to ensure Gerard did not try anything that he described to be 'funny business'. Which he didn't, until it came to handing over the objects, because then, the older man held the phone and the leather wallet out to the man, but as Frank had reached to take them, Gerard had retracted his arms, and dropped the objects to the ground.  
Rage having taken Frank over, he lunged at Gerard, knife in hand, which is when Gerard had gripped Frank's wrist, and twisted it, causing him to topple, and land on the carpet, with a quiet squeaking sound. He was to squeak again, as he was rolled onto his back, Gerard sitting on his arms, and holding his head back, with a fistful of hair in his hand.  
"You scared?" Gerard sounded much different now, less calm, and more cold, the unforgiving smirk never faltering. Frank had simply scoffed at that comment, jutting back his chin as far as possible, and building up a mouthful of saliva, which was then projected upwards, and straight into Gerard's face. The warm gunk on his face did cause Gerard to cringe very slightly, as he lifted his sleeve, and used his free hand to wipe it away, wrinkling his nose. He'd seen it all before.   
"You fucking-" He snapped, shifting off of Frank's arms, to stand up, grip his hair, in a way which was sure to inflict pain, and drag him, kicking and screaming over to the armchair, which sat beside the coffee table.

He yanked his hair up, and Frank went with it, feet skidding across the ground, as he appeared to be both trying to get away, and not hurt himself at the same time. Frank's blunt nails clawed at Gerard's hands, but it seemed to be of no use at all.  
"You're trying to fucking rob me?" Gerard had hissed, lifting Frank up, and shoving him onto the arm chair, and stepping away, to pick up the glass of water.   
"Thirsty? I added a special ingredient in this."   
Careful not to spill the liquid, Gerard shifted onto Frank's lap, sitting so that his legs could not move, and place one hand on his jaw, pushing his head back, and trying to wrench his mouth open, which didn't seem to work, as Frank resisted greatly, squirming, and the other on his chest, pushing him back.   
Finding that trying to open his mouth with brute force wasn't working, Gerard tried a different approach. He just wanted the man knocked out and unconscious.  
He, instead pinched his nose, watching as Frank turned pink, pushing and shoving at the unfazed Gerard- Eyes watering up.  
Eventually, Frank gave in, running out of air, and opened his mouth for a very short amount of time, gasping for air, and Gerard was quick to shove the glass to his face, and tilt it, so that Frank was forced to swallow it or choke (though he did choke a little, and understandably so).  
Once Gerard was satisfied, he placed the empty glass on the coffee table, and stepped off of the poor man, and watched, with raw delight, as Frank tumbled off of the chair, and began to clumsily and drowsily stumble towards the door, as if he meant to escape, but he stopped for a few seconds, bent over, and began coughing crazily, tearing up, and this was the opportunity Gerard took, to gently grab his shoulder, and push him back on the arm chair, smiling, watching quietly for a while, with this hungry look in his eyes which even Frank could pick up on, with his blurring, twisted, distorted vision.   
Gerard couldn't push away the sudden swell of pride in his chest which erupted with the thought that this would be done in his home.   
His home! His own fucking home!   
Finally, it had felt as if it had taken years, but Frank's eyes had slipped shut, and he was asleep.


	2. 2

The beaming sun smiled down on glimmering rat guts. The little boy sat, relishing in his time away from school, with a kitchen knife, which was now tainted very slightly. But when hacking open the thin, furry layer of skin, he had been very careful in not rupturing the organs any further, because he wanted to see them. The skull was already crushed, he didn't want to spoil it any further.

He had found it behind the bins by his house, and shot a sharp trainer-ed kick through its head, almost flattening the delicate bones. He then collected the warm body in his hot little hands, and carried it into the light, because the dingy little alleyway beside his house was predominantly in the shade.  
He disappeared, leaving it belly-up in the sun, and vanished inside for a knife from the kitchen. And then when returning with one, proceeded to bend over it, and gently slit open the skin, then placing the blade on the ground beside it. As if he was carefully opening a present, he pulled apart the skin, revealing the glittering organs inside it.   
Then, obstructing the sun from bouncing off it, a shadow. A round shadow, like a hovering circle, causing the boy to turn around in curiosity and look behind him, for the source of it.   
There, in the blistering heat of the summer afternoon, stood a woman with an umbrella. It was a raven black, and she held it, resting against her shoulder with one arm, and keeping her in the shade. She was tall and slim, and wore something strangely old fashioned for the time- A dress the same colour as the umbrella, reaching her knees, lined with lace, and black tights. It was an odd thing, the boy thought, to have an umbrella out on such a hot day. It was completely pointless.   
Not even a cloud in sight that day.   
The woman was staring at him. Corner of her red lips curved upwards in the hint of a smile.   
"What's that you've got there?" She asked softly, when her soft green eyes noticed that the boy had noticed her. Her shimmering black hair.   
The boy stared back at her silently for a few seconds, before turning back to the little corpse, and using two fingers to stretch the slit made in the rat a little wider, revealing the rib cage, the organs even more. He heard no footsteps, but very soon, the woman was knelt down beside him, and was looking at the rat herself. It seemed to make her as happy as it did him.   
"That's the small intestine." She outstretched a hand, and pointed to what looked like a fat clump  
of slimy spaghetti bundled together, "It's funny that they call it the small intestine, and do you know why that is?"  
The boy shook his head. He had always been told not to speak to strangers, but the lady seemed very nice, and very kind.   
"Then I shall tell you! It's funny, Gerard, because the small intestine is bigger than the large intestine! That is funny that! Isn't it?"  
Gerard didn't even question how she knew his name, and nodded, staring at her bony, pale fingers with a fascinated expression invading his features. The woman laughed.

***

Gerard had washed the corn syrup from Frank's skin, with a warm water, a towel, and some soap.   
Then he removed his jacket, in fear of him overheating and become uncomfortable. He hung the jacket up on the rack, and then made himself cosy in the arm-chair opposite to Frank's.   
Frank was still out. The kind thing to do would be to do it now, whilst he was unconscious, however the last thing on Gerard's mind was Frank's opinion  
His eyes practically lit up like lighthouses when he heard a soft groan from Frank, and saw him sort of move. Not very much, of course, but the poor thing had done a lot today. Gerard vowed to let him rest tomorrow, because there was still a lot to be done in order for it to be perfect.  
He rested his palms upon each arm rest, and leaned down to look closer at the waking Frank. A grin plastered across his face, which held a sinister feeling to it. Hungry eyes which scanned his skin, and took in every detail of it. The tattoos which stained him, and yet added to his irresistible appearance; Gerard couldn't hold himself back any further, because in Frank's dozy state, he lay with his head tilted, and his bare, pale neck exposed, perfect. 

Gerard leaned into him, letting his own body press against Frank's. He paused momentarily to see how his reaction would be, but Frank was far too out of it to care, and so he proceeded, pressing his lips onto his neck, they were soft and when they brushed against Frank's warm skin, he couldn't help but feel his stomach growl. 

Fuck, he thought, as he began gently biting his neck, I've been waiting far too long for this.

And then, two needle sharp fangs burst through Gerard's gums, and glinted, milky white, in the soft lighting of his living room, and Gerard rested a hand on Frank's neck to steady it. And then on his shoulders, pulling him much closer, so that it would be much easier for him to do this. He was beginning to stir a little more now. Gerard couldn't drag this out any further.   
His teeth burst through Frank's delicate skin in one fluid movement, puncturing it, splitting open, in two separate places, the thing which held his body together, and kept his blood inside him, safe and sound.But not now. He tilted his head a little now, to let the blood drip into his mouth. Immediately, the metallic, and yet so soothing, so homelike, satisfying, like drinking water after hours out in the sun, and the taste of the liquid which pumped through his veins, was to fill his mouth, and he began to swallow it, almost desperately. Frank had whimpered in pain, but he was barely even awake, and probably didn't yet know what was happening. Gerard decided that, for now, that would be for the best. It was a perfect bite, perfect, but Gerard would have to be controlled if he wanted to keep him. His face already became far less pale, less sallow, and the dark circles which plagued his eyes became far less noticeable. He had to stop. He had to stop, or he'd kill him. He'd be alone again, then, wouldn't he?   
He pulled away, just in time, leaving the warmth of Frank's skin, which seemed to seep away like water down a drain, and the incredible taste of his gorgeous blood lingering on his tongue, and plastering his lips as if he was wearing lipstick. He licked them clean, relishing in the final taste before it was gone forever, into his body.  
There were now two holes in Frank's neck; which Gerard had covered with a bunch of tissues, and he held them up against it. It wouldn't matter so much anyway, but he didn't really want to ruin his furniture anymore, because he'd bled a little bit upon the initial bite, onto the armchair's fabric. He had seen the wounds before covering them up; two identical deep holes disrupting his skin. They looked like someone had shoved a drill through his neck, circles, and from removing his teeth, the skin outlining the wounds curled outwards very slightly in a fashion that Gerard always found rather grotesque. 

Frank drowsily looked up at him, his eyes flickering around the room, and it was clear to see that he was disorientated and dizzy. They grew wider when they landed upon Gerard, who immediately brushed a gentle hand through Frank's hair and leaned in, kissing the top of his head tenderly, intending to comfort him. He didn't want his good mood to be ruined by crying and whining. 

"Just sleep, I'll tell you everything tomorrow."   
He slept without argument.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This is intended to have italics in certain places, but I don't know how, so it might be confusing, I'm sorry.)

It felt as if there was a ball of wool in Frank's mouth, which he hastily swallowed to clear open his throat. And then, his eyes opened, light pouring into his sockets, like a crumbling dam. He blinked a few times to regain a vision, with which he could observe his surroundings. It took a little while, but soon his tired, groggy eyes settled upon a black haired man who had just walked into the living room, holding a wine glass containing red liquid. Frank could, already smell it, in a way, he knew already that it was metallic, and sweet smelling. There was a pull towards it within him. Confused, disorientated, and nauseous, Frank rested a hand upon his neck, only to find that, there, where there had once been completely smooth skin, lay disruptions. Flaking, hard, scabby skin, indentations in two separate places. The skin had become tight, and irritable. Frank's eyes narrowed. That had not been there before, but there it was; whatever it was. Gerard apparently noticed the panic which became obvious on Frank's face, and so approached him quickly, with the glass, and held it out to him. 

"Here you go, take a sip of this," he insisted, practically shoving the wine glass into Frank's weak hands, which trembled, and then Gerard changed his mind, and instead, chose to sit on the armrest, and hold the glass for him. This would regain his strength, he decided. He knew that Frank would not say no to the offer. The smell, the inviting, enchanting, was almost impossible to say no to. Frank's hands wrapped around the glass and pulled it closer, and took a small, tentative sip out of it. The liquid wasn't cold, like Frank expected. It was warm, and the small drop of it Frank had initially allowed into his mouth, was one of the best things he had ever tasted. Sweet, and yet savoury at the same time, and oh, so satisfying. But he must have remembered what had happened earlier, Gerard thought, because he tilted the glass again, away from his face, with an distrusting look on his face which Gerard understood. 

"There's nothing wrong with it, it's warm, fresh." Gerard assured him, urging him to drink more, and that he did, yet again pulling the glass closer, and this time, allowing it all in. Only stopping when the glass was empty.   
It was indeed fresh blood, and Gerard still had a body lying in his kitchen, drained of blood, with broken bones. Gerard would have to sort that all out.   
"I'll be just in the kitchen, now, you regain your strength."

\---

"I want a cheese pizza. Just the one. And I want it quick."

Gerard found what he was looking for in the dusty shed, which smelled thickly of mould and rotting organic materials. He reached for the item, which was completely devoid of dust; his trusty saw. He crossed the back garden again, back into his kitchen, where the man lay, limbs strewn out messily like a rag doll. On the counter, close to the bloody scene, were the items needed; plastic black bags, a bucket of warm, bubbly water, a rag (which had become discoloured after all of this time)

DING DONG.   
"Yes, is that my pizza? I'd hate to take ages, but I'm afraid I've left my wallet in the living room, so if you'll just come inside, yes, out of the cold!"

Gerard decided to begin with the arms, and knelt down beside the left arm. He stretched it out, and placed the blade upon it, wondering where to start. Once the saw grazed a piece of skin, which covered the very upper arm, Gerard began. A small groove in the flesh to begin with, an awful ripping sound. Blade through skin, muscle, bone, and then it hung from a thin layer of skin, which Gerard simply tore to free.

Gerard grabbed the pizza boy's head and slammed it against the wall, with enough force to knock him under and then cause an indentation, also, in the wall. Now, he lay flopped out on the ground, unconscious. Gerard grabbed the body by its underarms, and pulled it through into the kitchen, where he let it lay out flat. Picking the daintiest knife from the knife-block, and taking a large mixing bowl, Gerard knelt beside the man's throat, and muttered a quick, and insincere apology, before jamming the blade in.

Arm number one was done. Gerard pulled open one of the plastic bags, and stuffed it inside, before tying it up. And now for the right arm. In a similar place to the left arm; Gerard positioned the saw, and grimaced.

As, inevitably, blood began spewing out, Gerard plugged his nose with one arm, so that he would not succumb to temptation, and held the bowl in place, to collect as much of it as possible.

Having put away the legs, feet, torso, head, legs, arms, and various other limbs, Gerard carried the plastic bags outside, and left them on the porch step.   
He'd get rid of them later, but for now, it was over. Gerard couldn't pretend that he enjoyed the business of disposing of bodies, however, he couldn't pretend, either, that human blood wasn't the best. Everything else tasted bitter, dirty, not like humans.   
Gerard took the rag, and shoved it into the clean water. Then, getting onto his hands and knees, Gerard began to scrub away at the torn pieces of skin, bone, muscle, blood, which stained the floor. Streaks of water and bubbles replaced the grisly scene which had been there, mere minutes ago. 

As if it was a punch bowl, Gerard dipped a ladle, which he had found in the back of his cupboard, into the mixing bowl, and tipped the liquid he had taken from it, into a wine glass. Fresh. Special. Just for Frank.


	4. Chapter 4

Next year, also in the summer, Gerard and his brother were playing soccer. They were usually tethered to the house, due to the poor reputation of the area in which they lived, however, their mother was out with a friend, and it was just their dad. Free to play soccer in the middle of the road, like the idiots that they were. The sun was relentlessly slamming against the ground, and the roofs of houses, and the pair had been smothered in sun cream, causing them both to resemble two little ghosts, before being let out. An unfortunate event, however, which had occurred after Gerard had kicked the ball a little too hard, they found themselves standing on the road just inches before the house opposite their own, filled with uncertainty, because that house was not a pretty one, nor did it have a sparkling reputation. The bright red, slightly deflated soccer ball stood out from the rest of the crazed garden, nestled neatly in the mass of greenery.

The house opposite theirs was a house which looked as though it had been let go of over the years. Dirt clinging onto the ivory walls like limpets, curtains, always shut tightly; even on a sunny day like this one. A lawn, which was more of a jungle, as a crazed patch of waist high grass stuck up, out of the ground, and was parted, solely by a narrow gravel path leading to the blistered front door.  
"Well you kicked it, you're going to have to get it." Gerard's brother nudged him gently, taking a careful step back.  
"What, I-" Gerard turned fearfully, to look over his shoulder, back at his brother. The irrational fear of scary looking house on the street kicking in, and kicking in hard, "Fine." He replied defeated.   
Stepping up onto the sidewalk, and then onto the little gravel path. He continued up it over to the the spot of ground adjacent to the little red ball poking out, flattening the strands of grass around it. As he began wading his way through the strands of grass, which crunched beneath his feet like an empty packet of crisps, the blistering blue door creaked open, and a figure appeared in the darkened doorway. Gerard's joints stiffened, freezing him in place as if an invisible force held him there.  
A tall, feminine figure, leaned against the frame.   
"What are you doing in my yard?" A female voice drawled. Gerard's limbs released him again, allowing him to check over his shoulder, to see that his brother had deserted him; his own front door swinging shut. He turned back to the woman, who, as he realised now, was familiar to him; he remembered her. From a hot summer, which was now a hazy memory of melted ice creams, sipping on warm milkshakes, hours in the local swimming pool, and cartoons all day. Gerard helplessly pointed towards his soccer ball, and the woman nodded, understanding.   
"I'll come and help you with that." The woman made his way over to Gerard and then began pushing through the grass, which yawned up to her hips, and scooped the ball into her pale arms, which were quickly becoming pink. She was hasty to push the ball into his arms, and hurriedly shoot back into her house again. She lingered, again, in the doorway, and began rubbing her rosy arms. She had scuttled into her house in such an odd, and suspicious way, that even a young boy, as young as Gerard, could pick up on it. He frowned.   
Similar to how it had been last time they met, he didn't utter a word.   
He had been kind of surprised that she had been living there all along. For some reason, his mind would often drift back to the last time they had met, a foggy memory which lingered like an unpleasant smell. She had the same appearance- not appearing to have aged at all over the past year. The same glossy black hair hanging over her head and deep cheekbones, and clear, spotless skin which stayed smooth paper. Pale as paper too. Her eyes, glinting like two green traffic lights, stayed fixed on Gerard again.   
His limbs held him prisoner again. He stared back.  
"It is very warm today, isn't it? " She commented, appearing almost desperate to coax the small boy into speaking, "In fact, if you would like, I could over you and your brother an ice lolly. so how about that?" Her red lips curved into a smile.   
To much disappointment, there was no verbal reply on the boy's part, and he instead stared at her, and nodded. The nod was good enough, and the woman stood to the side, to allow Gerard through, and into the dingy hallway.   
Gerard scuffed his feet against the dusty path, creating a little fog at his feet, as he made his way over to the porch steps, which were grey, and made of concrete. A small huffing sound resonated from the boy, which made the woman frown.   
"What's the matter?" she asked. He answered, to much surprise, and sent a grin crawling across the woman's features.   
"It's hot."   
"Ah, tell me about it. I'll show you to the kitchen, I have loads of ice lollies in my freezer."   
The inside of the house was dark, and cold. Silent, apart from the quiet hum of the AC pumping cool air through vents in the wall. A dark hallway- red, peeling wallpaper hugging the walls, and creaky, polished floorboards which groaned when being trod upon. And a series of doors alongside it; each identical, a dark brown, and polished, just as the floor was. Gerard remembered thinking that it can't have been too homely there at all. There was little to judge from, due to the fact that the unfurnished hallway was narrow, and the doors were tightly shut, and the dim lights hid the sinister corners and darkened doorways.   
The woman made a beeline for the door sitting at the very end of the corridor, and Gerard scuttled meekly after her, his shoulders hunching inwards slightly. The atmosphere lingering in the air like a foul smell caused him to want to curl into a ball, and hold his legs into himself, like a baby in the womb.  
There was a strange dusty smell, which, at first, overwhelmed the nostrils, and then, hiding beneath that, a different smell which was more challenging to pick up on, but impossible to shake once caught. An odd, metallic smell which one would find immensely difficult to place a finger upon. But when they did, they would realise that the smell belonged to blood, which explained the familiarity that one felt when smelling it.   
The woman opened the door at the end, and ushered Gerard inside, into a spotless kitchen.   
Absolutely spotless, completely safe to lick. A smell of bleach and disinfectant replaced the strange smell in the hallway, stronger, and chemical rather than the disturbingly natural scent out there. Clean white tiles, granite surfaces which beamed, and neatly organised sets of bowls and plates sitting patiently behind cupboard doors, probably acting more like dust collectors than anything else..   
"Here we are." The woman had approached the refrigerator, and pulled out one of the drawers. Steam rose up, and it was frozen over with crystals of ice, but looked as though it was used often, due to the fact it was opened effortlessly. Gerard stood behind her, and watched, as she took out an ice tray, full of red ice cubes- presumably it was juice she was freezing, he thought. They wobbled like jelly, so they couldn't have been there long. And then, beneath that, he was to discover as she put the tray on the counter, was an unopened box of 'Yummy fruit flavoured ice treat!' written in ugly red letters, and stood out against the pale green container, which was coated in ice crystals.   
She used one of her long, red nails to open the box, and hold it out to him.   
Gerard took one green 'Yummy fruit flavoured ice treat!', for his brother, and then a red one, which was for himself.  
On the way back to the door, Gerard walked ahead of her, creaking and groaning floorboards complaining beneath his feet, and then again, beneath the woman's. The slither of light dancing in from the open front door.   
As they passed one of the doors, the second, to be precise, a dull thudding sound came from the other side, as if something had been thrown against it. The force put against it caused the door to struggle against its hinges.   
Gerard stopped.   
"That's nothing!" the woman assured him, placing hands on his shoulders and pushing to propel him forwards, "Just- Where I keep the bodies!" She laughed, eventually pushing Gerard out, onto the porch step again.   
"It was nice seeing you again, Gerard, I never was quite able to forget you."

Before slicing up, and stuffing the body parts carelessly into the plastic bags. Gerard had searched through the pizza boy's pockets. He rolled the boy onto his back, after gingerly feeling up his back pockets, to find them empty. And then, the jacket pockets, after hearing the glorious sound of keys rattling resonate from one of them, and pulled the keys out, with a look of relief upon his face. He placed them in his own pocket.  
Now, with the sun nestling calmly in the horizon, pulling away the darkness and bringing about a brand new day. As the sky welcomed the sun, he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head to shield himself from the inevitable damage that the sun would cause his skin and brain- he'd be fried like a fish if he didn't.  
Before it got too light, Gerard began carrying the bags out to the car, one by one with care, so that they would not rip, and reveal his secret to the woodland creatures which were his only neighbours. It had taken several attempts to find the correct key for the pizza boy's car. He planned to crash it somehow. A flask was situated in his jacket pocket, the liquid inside it swished against the metal walls. He had filtered the contents of the mixing bowl into it. A very handy and convenient snack. 

Upon returning for the final bag, which contained the severed head, along with pieces of bone and skin which had just so happened to escape the previous bags, was not where Gerard had put it.

It, instead, was in the inky hands of Frank, who had untied the handles, which had been entwined together, and parted them, to get a look at whatever it was in his suspicious looking bag. It felt like there was a football, and then pieces of cut-up raw chicken scattered about. Close enough. 

Two eyes glared back at him. Glazed, wide open, and a gaping mouth. Blood spatters.  
He couldn't hold back the scream which followed, as it shoved its way out on impulse. The bag fell from his hands, bounced a few times on the porch steps, and landed on the floor. 

Frank stared first at the black bag, and then at Gerard, who stared back. 

"What the fuck- I - That's a-" Frank was speechless.  
"A head?" Gerard filled in the gaps for Frank, because he was just oh-so-fucking-kind, "Yes, as it it just so happens, that's a head. And the owner of that head is 'no longer with us', so I have to get rid of the body. Go inside." He stated matter of factly, as if he was announcing a trip to the dentists. 

Frank gawped like a goldfish, and then shook his head.  
"No! - Fuck! You- a murderer-" At a loss of words, he pieced together a broken sentence. He felt as though he didn't even know English, and that he had just learned it, and was struggling to communicate with someone who did.   
The laugh that Gerard responded with was cold and humourless. 

"You're forgetting something, it was you who tried to kill me in the first place. Don't you remember?" 

Frank didn't reply for a few seconds.  
"It really was an empty threat..."  
Gerard laughed, again, as he picked the bag back up again, and tied the handles back together again, so that the severed head wouldn't fall out, because that would be most unfortunate.  
"This whole... predicament isn't how it looks, and I'll explain, Frank, but please would you go inside?"   
Frank's eyes remained trained on the plastic bag. It was difficult to avert his eyes, not when he knew exactly what was inside- two glossy dead eyes stared back up at him when he opened it, and though the handles were tied together, and the head was sealed inside- it felt as though the eyes saw through the plastic, and was watching. The bag was alarmingly squishy.

"Fuck no!" Frank snapped, shaking his head with vigour, which made Gerard sigh impatiently.

"Yes, Frank, go inside please," Gerard took a step closer. The bag crinkled in his hands, "I want to help you. There are things I want to- no, need to- explain to you. But I need to do this first. Will you wait for me, please?" Gerard stared at Frank with shiny, gem-like eyes. 

Frank's skin hurt under the rising sun. It was pink. And it burned, feeling as if it was going to roll off of his bones, in a frazzled mess. 

It probably would, actually. Frank decided to ignore the burning sensation which assaulted the uncovered patches of skin on his body. 

"Rot in a pile of shit." Frank snapped as a friendly response, causing Gerard to only roll his eyes, not getting the desired effect, sadly. 

"Lovely," Gerard muttered sarcastically, moving closer, and closer until he was standing uncomfortably close to him, or uncomfortable for Frank, anyway, "Please trust me, Frank, I wouldn't ask this of you, if I didn't think that it would, in some way, help you-"  
"No!"   
"It's that, or you can sit in the truck with me with a stinking body, do you want that?" Gerard snarled, finally, losing his temper. The calm and collected attitude which once resided in him was gone. 

Frank pulled a face which could be seen on a sulky child. The resemblance was uncanny, and it made Gerard chuckle coldly.  
"I didn't think so, Frank." Gerard replied for him, before taking his arm gently, and leading him inside, "I'm sorry that I can't explain now, but I will, I promise. And when I do, I don't doubt that you will understand my situation, and also your situation."


	5. Chapter 5

Petal shaped, lipgloss pink, and about as long as Gerard's forearm; a disrupted stretch of skin wrapped across his torso, and looked as if it had been there forever. But the problem here, and the thing that perplexed Gerard the most, was the fact that it, in fact, wasn't. With no memory of the night before, Gerard had never seen it in his life, and the monstrous size of the thing suggested that he would have probably remembered its existence, had it been there before. Black hair scruffy and tangled, like an overgrown garden on Gerard's head, rings beneath his eyes, staining his spotty, pale, adolescent skin. He had changed considerably since the night before, and that was a fact; a sense of wrongness and deformity upon him, which he couldn't quite place a finger on. But he was not to care, or worry, about the chapped line which discoloured his skin, he had a dentist's appointment in about twenty minutes; and he was still stood in his dingy bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, with the hem of his shirt between his teeth, one hand running along the scar as if it was a train on tracks, and the other rested upon his hip. Whatever this was; the appointment was far more important. Nineteen years old now; Gerard had been encountering some problems with regards to his teeth. 

\---

"So we're just gonna take a look at your teeth now, right?"   
A light shone into Gerard's mouth. His eyelids wrinkled shut. Suddenly very aware of the fact that someone was looking into his mouth; not one of the most pleasant parts of the human anatomy, he became very uncomfortable.   
But whilst he was uncomfortable, the middle-aged dentist, who did not get paid enough for this, had made an awful discovery, and reeled back at the horrendous sight of two paper white teeth bulging out from the pink gums, the type you might expect on a snake, or a vampire.

\---

Honestly, the task of disposing of a stinking corpse was not the highlight of Gerard Way's life. Driving down country roads, which were thin, and awkward to navigate, and feeling fully aware of the fact that the boy back at his house, were two things that were, similarly, not the highlight of Gerard Way's life.   
Neither was stopping by the lake, a perhaps twenty minute drive from his home. It wasn't a very scenic lake; heavily polluted; any wildlife that dared to live there probably had sixty eyes on stalks, glowed in the dark, and had five hundred legs. Or in other words; was horribly mutated. The bubbling, murky water was unappealing, and you'd have to use a torch which outshone the sun to see the bottom of it.   
A lone chair bobbed about in the centre of the lake. Gerard took the handbrake off, and allowed the car to slowly roll towards the water, and watched as it was submerged in the foul liquid. Gerard was forced to walk home.

Upon his return, the welcoming party, stood on his front doorstep, sheltered by the porch, had been a grumpy looking Frank, with a stony glare upon his face.  
"So you're back." He seethed coldly, narrowing his eyes at Gerard, who seemed not to notice Frank's existence, and had absently walked past him, jacket in hand, as he placed it upon a peg in the hall, and disappeared into the living room. Glowering, Frank followed, standing in the doorway with his arms folded. For a few seconds, Gerard stared silently at him, a sullen look on his face. It had not been a good morning; why did Frank feel it was necessary to pester him in this way?  
"Yes," Gerard replied bitterly, "What have you been up to?"

Rosella watched, eyes widening in a pure state of shock, and her rose-red lips were in a scowl. Robert appeared shocked to have been caught by his dear, darling wife, having an affair with Kirstin! Oh the shock! His hands curled over her breasts like beige, meaty spiders, and he was stripped from the waist down, though the loose fitting white button-up shirt which hung limply from his shoulders hardly qualified as-

Frank wrinkled his nose, and set the paper down. Call it investigating, if you will, but Frank had been busy snooping through the dingy study, which hid behind a white door on the upper floor. Neatly stacked upon the desk, had been a text of some kind; hand written in a scrawl. Frank had chosen a page at random and picked it up, eyes grazing over the paper, until he realized that what he was reading wasn't particularly to his taste.

"Nothing much," Frank's voice was low, and surly, "I'm going to call the police on you."  
Gerard's expression darkened, and for a few glorious seconds, Frank thought that he had finally gotten him.  
"Yes, you do that. Watch what they'll do when they see your teeth." Gerard absently looked to his hands, and shrugged, with loose shoulders.

"My teeth?" Frank challenged, with a look of disbelief upon his face, "What is wrong with my teeth?" He examined Gerard's features, who had a rather suspicious nature about him. He ran his tongue along his lower, and upper sets of teeth, though, just to make sure that, really, nothing was wrong. And he felt nothing out of the ordinary- It seemed that Gerard was spouting nonsensical lies for some reason.   
"I'll show you."  
Frank prodded his teeth with his index and middle finger, as inconspicuously as one can when feeling up their mouth. As they ran over his upper gums, very close to the roof of his mouth and lip, his finger came across a hard bump which he did not remember being there before. As his fingers moved to the other side, he was to find that there was another bump, symmetrical to the other. Frank, spooked, pulled his fingers away, glimmering with spit, and wiped them on his shirt.

The bumps did not feel as though any gum covered them, due to the fact that they were hard as bone, and upon running the finger around it- he found that they were pointed and sharp.   
Like a tooth.

This would soon make sense, as when Gerard took him to the slightly dirty and dark bathroom, which was somehow still perfectly pleasant, and positioned him in front of the mirror which stood above the sink. 

As clear as day; two milky fangs, shiny with spit, and strangely comfortable in Frank's mouth, natural, as if they were a canine, or a molar, as if they had always been there. Gerard stood behind him, still able to see his own face, due to the height distance.

Frank grinned; not because he was particularly happy with the discovery, but because he wanted to examine them. The tips of the teeth were visible only when he grinned, or physically lifted his lip. He struggled to form sentences again. Gerard laughed. If Frank looked carefully, he could see two white pointed teeth stick out in his mouth too.

"Don't you see what's happened to you?" He taunted, in a sing-song voice. It was a rhetorical question, "You aren't what you were anymore. You are just like me. Oh, Frank, you'll never guess what I gave you earlier- Oh go on! Guess- Please." He smiled. His teeth were very visible.   
Frank lashed out at him, and shoved him extremely hard, which made Gerard grin.   
Not very much happened.  
"They'll kill you." Gerard stated, before reaching out, and taking his arm gently, "Come on, I know someone who can help you."


	6. Chapter 6

"What the fuck is happening to me?" was the real, burning question here, and this became apparent when Gerard began to repeat it several times; beginning with a hushed. terrified whisper. and finished with him almost screaming the six words. which had become a familiar taste in his mouth. And it was a question which seemed to have no answer. It had been perhaps five minutes since his return home. And although he had been incredibly light on the feet on the way home, a thick, heavy feeling plagued the base of his throat, as if he had swallowed a snowball. This feeling was due to the intense smack of fear which hit him. All felt as though it was wrong, everything felt wrong, Gerard's senses were too heightened, and he was far too aware of everything in his surroundings. His skin felt different too, somewhat dead, and tough like leather, and as he clawed his nails down his left cheek, as expected; four pink lines grinned across his cheek, but disappeared immediately. This, however, wasn't the disturbing thing; it was the great nothing that he felt when he did so. And it did nothing on this time, or the next, or the one after that, or the many other times that Gerard tried to make his skin burst into pain. Even as the scratches grew more violent, there was nothing, and the marks disappeared immediately.   
The smell of food repulsed him entirely, and so he sat, curled on the bathroom floor, clutching his cold face, broken into tears, and wondering what the fuck had happened to him. He pulled himself back up again; to flop down into the bathtub, and with one trembling, almost unusable hand, switched on the shower, and after a few seconds of irritated gurgling, icy water shot out, and hit him hard. But he could not feel it.   
He felt the tiny darts of water bounce off his skin; soak into his clothes, and the icy feeling of dread in his chest, but not the freezing temperature, he felt nothing. Not the warmth of the tears which dripped easily down his cheeks, nothing.

Through his bleary vision, it was difficult to see the figure which flung open the bathroom door, and ran to him. At first, he thought that due to its skinny stature, that it was his brother, but that was soon dismissed as the figure spoke soothingly to him, in a voice that was groggily familiar, and belonged, certainly, to a woman. The water stopped.   
"Hey, hey, it's okay.."   
The figure was sat beside him now, arms were around him, and pulled him a little closer. She didn't seem to mind that he was soaking wet. Gerard wished desperately to see who it was properly, and blinked to clear his eyes of the thin layer of moisture which prevented him from being able to see. He stared helplessly up at the face above him, and recognised it in a heartbeat. It was just his neighbour, he had not seen her properly in years, but her face remained exactly the same. Smooth pale skin, cherry lipstick. Icy hands rubbed circles into his skin, and whispered warm things in a whisper. Gerard knew that he should find it odd, that a stranger would take some interest in him, but cared more for the physical attention that the stranger provided, and so he softened into it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry.." she whispered as if it were a mantra, as she held him, and felt tears pricking in her own eyes.

 

**** 

 

Not even the hint of a blush blossomed upon Frank's cheeks, as he lay on the backseat, crying his eyes out as though he were an infant. To be honest, his incessant sobbing grew irritating after a while. It wasn't that he did not emphasise, that was not the case at all; Gerard remembered vividly, what it had been like when he had first changed, and the overwhelming feeling of being ruined forever which haunted his brain still to this day. He wanted to put on the radio, but did not want to seem insensitive. So he listened to the engine rumbling instead. Anything, literally, other than the pitiful sound of Frank wailing, because that acted as a reminder of how things were once for him too. How every sudden noise makes you jump, and how every smell overwhelms you. But after a while, Gerard grew tired of the whimpering and snivelling, and the sound of Frank rather grotesquely sniffing up snot, and not wanting him to dribble all over his car seat, and reluctantly commenced a conversation.  
"You'll be okay, you know?" he said softly, seeming strangely sympathetic. It wasn't like him to act like that, "I mean... Like, I know it's hard, but you need to stop crying. That's going to get you nowhere, okay? You're going to be okay."   
Frank didn't answer, though he quietened down again,   
"Sit up and put your seatbelt on, I wouldn't want to get pulled over. No-one is going to hurt you anymore, you don't need to be afraid."   
Frank lifted himself up, resting his head, now, against the window, as he did as was instructed of him with regards to the seatbelt.   
"Did you do it on purpose?" Frank asked quietly, catching Gerard's eye in the rear-view mirror, though his gaze quickly swivelled back to the road again.   
"Did I do what on purpose?" Gerard asked back, and Frank frowned.   
"Well, this, Gerard, turning me."   
And for a few seconds, silence fell upon them, as Gerard continued staring at the road. Of course it was on purpose. Truth was; Gerard saw Frank, at first, as a food source. Something to munch on, and he wanted to drag the life out of him, kicking and screaming. But then, all of a sudden, he didn't. No, Gerard didn't want Frank's blood so much, then, no, Gerard wanted him. So he would have him.   
But Frank wasn't to know that, of course. If he knew it was on purpose, he'd freak, probably, resent him forever. Resent him more than he did already.   
If it were an accident, he would probably be more understanding. He'd excuse his atrocious behaviour, maybe grow to like him.

"It was an accident," Gerard said eventually. This made Frank lift his head up, and off the car window again to look at him. Gerard had been thinking for quite some time, and Frank had since given up on getting a response out of him, "I'll admit. I meant to kill you. But I didn't mean for this to happen, Frank."  
And that was when Gerard began to spin that web of lies, which would, hopefully, gain his trust.


	7. Chapter 7

'The Gerard Way Hate Club'

"Eeee-yaahhn..." April McLoughlin stood, leaning against the doorframe of her husband's office, bottom, rouged lip, sticking out, "Why won't you spend time with me anymore?"   
Ian McLoughlin poked his head out from behind a mountain of papers and files, before he sighed, getting up, and out of his tatty leather office chair, and hurrying over to his wife, as he encased her hips in his hands. She wore blue today, a dress, which hugged her breasts and waist perfectly, and an apron tied over it: white, and decorated with sunflowers. Blonde hair curled into ringlets. One eye was blue, the other, bone white, appearing to be covered in a milky film, like frosted glass, unusable, and in Ian's eyes, she looked not a day over thirty, despite being in her forties.   
In the streets they caught eyes, April, being the radiant, and delicate looking woman she was, with her dainty hand curled tightly around that of her pudgier husband. Because Ian was huge, in fact, an elephant would probably cower from  
him, with a large, rather square shaped head, and a tuft of angry brown hair growing from his head. A wart peeked out from the left side of his nose. Always a slightly stale smell on his breath.   
"I'm so sorry my darling, it's just work, I-"  
April pressed her forehead against Ian's chest, giggling.   
"I was joking, honey-pop, our guests are here, and dinner's ready."   
Ian nodded, pulling away, and moved past her, though once his hand was caught in hers, he stopped.   
"Please don't lose your temper, baby, you might not like what you see."   
Ian stepped into the wood-panel hallway, turning, unhooking jangling keys from his belt, and locked the study, before he followed his wife to the dining room. Her hips moved as she did, in a magnetising, and captivating fashion which, and Ian was sure of this, caused aurora borealis to whimper, and shy away, when compared, because to him; April McLoughlin was the swirling ripples of coloured light which swept through the night.

It was a shame, really, that such tenderness and patience was reserved for her, and only for her: as the soft expression upon his face was to harden upon catching sight of his, what to call them, colleagues. An unruly, and disagreeable bunch of what had once been four, but now, only three stood in the hallway by the door, and the mere sight of them caused an irritated sigh to pass through Ian's lips. But what, he felt, acted as the real kick in the teeth, was the fact that he had received nothing to alert him of his colleague's absence. He did not greet his guests, immediately asking:  
"Where in God's name is Walters?"   
A collective sense of discomfort hit the three absent-minded people stood, and each shuffled about like penguins, making eye contact, silently nominating each other to speak until finally one- a woman, in her twenties with greasy, unkempt blonde hair, with ripples of faded pink, and cold blue eyes spoke up. Her skinny, gangling figure repulsed Ian slightly, and his general hatred towards all women, save April, burned slightly. He was, however, rather desperate for people to do his dirty work for him, and this naive woman was, indeed, the smartest of them, contrary to Ian's initial thoughts on her. Karen was, however, his least favourite, due to his prejudices.

"He's quit," She stated, smacking on the chewing gum in her mouth, "Said he didn't want to be part of this anymore."

Ian looked as though he were about to explode, and April intervened before that happened, ushering her husband and the guests into the large dining room, adjacent to the dining room. A large mahogany table held neatly placed plates, and napkins, folded into the shapes of swans- courtesy of April herself, and attractive place mats. Ian took place at the head of the table, and April would sit opposite, once she had collected the objects from the Walters' place, and left with them, carrying them into the kitchen to put away. The second she was absent, Ian slammed his fist against the table, causing both the guests, and the cutlery to shudder.

"Why the fuck has he quit?" Ian boomed at them, though was silenced by the return of his wife, carrying three bowls of green soup- one rested upon her forearm- from her waitressing days. He smiled, and when she returned to the kitchen, looked back at his guests expectantly. The overweight elf-like man, named Samuel, sat beside the woman shifted.   
"He says he's over trying to kill Gerard." He said, watching the woman remove the gum from her mouth, and stick it to the bottom of the table. Thankfully, Ian did not catch her performing such a disagreeable act. All sat at the table knew that the consequences would not have been light. Ian focused mostly on Samuel. Upon closely examining him, one could probably see the steam erupting from his ears. April returned, with the bowls, placing one before her husband, and the other at her place, where she sat down, and gestured warmly with her hands for all to begin eating, a polite instruction which was followed by all, and a silence fell upon them, except the clanking of cutlery, and the sound of slurping- mostly from Ian, whose eyes left Samuel not once.

The third guest- a rat-like stick insect, whose Adam's apple burst out of his throat, and moved precariously as he swallowed, and protruded through his saggy skin more than a normal one, and whose hair shone in the light- due to the variety of gels and products used on it, to flatten it against his skull in a fashion which showed off his oddly shaped head.  
"This soup is lovely." Rat-face smiled, between spoonfuls, "What did you put in it?"  
April looked flattered, giving him a toothy smile.   
"Don't flatter me so! You'll embarrass me!" She sipped her wine, "But I used some secret ingredients, can't tell."   
"Is it spinach?" Karen asked, chewing loudly on a slice of bread. April smiled politely, and as she took another sip of her drink, shook her head.   
"No, there's no spinach in this.."  
"Ah, I see."  
"Why didn't you make him stay?" Ian's eyes continued to be locked onto Rat-face. When not one person answered, he tried again, growing only louder- a crescendo of rage.   
"Why in God's fucking name didn't you make him stay?!" Ian was shouting now, blocking out the pleads made, by April, seemingly in vain, to calm her partner, "We can't a-fucking-ford another loss!"  
"It's not our fault that he left! He might'a mentioned a few things. I say this with all due respect- but you're an asshole, and he's left because he can't stand you. And neither can I!" Karen replied, dropping her spoon into the soup, and watching as it sunk like a shipwreck to the bottom of the bowl.

April stood now, grabbing the sharp knife used to slice the bread from the wooden board, and drove it straight into the wood. It struck the surface with a force so strong, that when her hand pulled away, it remained sticking upright like a tree from the table. Shuddering like a leaf.   
"Fuck him," She hissed, "He's not important. We all want the same thing, don't we? Revenge. Karen's baby, Samuel's brother," She looked at Rat-face pleadingly, "Your mother."  
Those still seated shifted.   
"Listen to me. That fucker stole my eye, and he nearly stole my husband. And we all want him dead. And together, I do promise you, we'll have him. We'll tear his dead skin off his bones, cut out his cold liver, fry it up, and have it for breakfast, we'll shove a stake through his heart, and watch as he crumbles like a cookie, but not yet. Not while we're acting like this."

Storming out of the dining room, April took to the stairs, and locked herself away in the bedroom, flopping flat onto the bed, and pushing her face into the pillow. She would never be beautiful again- Not with her eye, or the scars which ran across her body from that fateful encounter with him, one never seemed to stop haunting her brain. Ian told her, often, that she was beautiful, but she was never satisfied. It seemed, now, that the only thing which could rid her of this agony, would be Gerard Way's head displayed like a trophy- stuffed and mounted on the wall like a hunted deer. The thought made her smile.


End file.
